


A Safe Place

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Glorfindel is Elenwë's brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 21:11:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2165349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Nevrast, an the anniversary of Elenwë's death, Glorfindel seeks Turgon out to make sure his friend is coping. Turgon tells him about a vision he has had of a bright future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Safe Place

**Author's Note:**

> Since we have so little canon information about either of them, I like to imagine Glorfindel being Elenwë's brother. It interests me partly because of how it affects the dynamic between Glorfindel and Turgon, before and after the crossing of the Helcaraxë, so that is what I have tried to address here.

Glorfindel climbed the stone steps with worry tugging at his heart, his eyes fixed on the silhouette of the tall figure standing upon the sea wall, staring out at the ocean. Turgon’s hair was lifted by the chill, damp wind as Glorfindel came to stand alongside him, saying nothing. Before them, the ground fell away in sheer cliffs, the iron grey sea far below lashing and churning as clouds gathered on the western horizon.

Turgon turned to look at him. “Laurë” he said, and there was a catch in his voice. “Why have you come out here today?”

 _I might ask you the same_ , Glorfindel was about to ask his friend, but he did not need to. “Because I thought I might find you here” he said. “Because every year on this day you grow melancholy and seek solitude. I can understand” he felt his own voice crack. “She was my sister, Turno, as well as your wife, and I loved her too.”

Turgon looked away. “Laurë, I’m - ”

“No. No, don’t be sorry” he nudged Turgon with his shoulder in a conciliatory manner. “I just wanted to make sure you were…” he tailed off.  _Not ‘alright’. It would never be alright, and they both knew it._

“I sometimes wonder” said Turgon after a while, still staring out to sea, “whether it even means anything. The day, I mean. The calendars have all changed, and the number of the day of the year in the new system doesn’t correspond to anything in the old system, not really. And time on the Ice…” he gestured as he struggled for words.

Glorfindel nodded, knowing exactly what Turgon meant. On the Ice, time had barely seemed to exist; there had been no Trees, no sun, no moon. Only the wheeling stars and the restlessly flickering lights in the northern sky, and the ever present, all-consuming cold. Certainly the habits of record keeping, of calendars and accounts of days, had all but slipped away after a while. Glorfindel shuddered.

“Elenwë would say you made the right choice” he said, the words catching in his throat as his sister’s smile swam into his mind, in painfully bright detail. “In saving Itarillë, I mean.” It was a point that he and many others had made to Turgon countless times before, but it still touched at a place in his heart that no less was raw and bloody for it. Turgon did not answer but simply pressed his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Obviously such a choice should not have to be made though” said Glorfindel, feeling a sudden rush of pity for Turgon once more. He himself had been away hunting when it had happened, had not been able to come to her aid… Glorfindel had cursed himself every day since for that; he could only imagine what it was like for Turgon.

Turgon opened his eyes suddenly, looking away from the sea and regarding Glorfindel intently. “What if” he said at last “…what if there were a  _safe place_. A place where families could stay together, and one did not have to choose between the lives of loved ones…” his face showed pain, his voice brittle.

“Nevrast is safe” said Glorfindel, gesturing out at the sea, but he felt the edge of a question creep into his voice, involuntarily. “Vinyamar is well-protected. You have made it so.”

“For now” said Turgon. “But what if…”

“What?”

Turgon hesitated for a moment. “Laurë, I haven’t told anyone except Irissë and Itarillë about this yet, but…”

“Turno, if you’re asking me to keep a secret, I’m your sworn man. I can do that.”

Turgon let out a little huff of breath, his face softening a little in something like relief. “Alright. Do you remember last month I went away for a time, on that trip with Findaráto…?”

“Of course.”

“Well… something happened then. Something important.”

Glorfindel’s eyes widened. “Tell me.”

And so Turgon did. His words spun visions of the Lord of Waters, of rock and river and high walls of white stone, of a bright valley, a city of high, strong towers and green gardens and golden light.

“A  _safe place_ ” breathed Glorfindel at last. “And… it’s real? You think it will truly be safe?”

“I hope…” said Turgon, his mouth quirked upwards into a wry little smile. “I thought I had quite lost the capacity to hope, but it seems not.”

Glorfindel could only nod, his mind filled with brightness for the first time that day.

Suddenly Turgon fixed him with a sharp stare once more. “I will be in need of Lords to help me govern, and a standing military force in case of attack” he said. “Will you come?”

“I’ve already told you” said Glorfindel, and it seemed like the easiest thing in the world to say it. “I’m your sworn man, but even if I were not I would follow you. This dream of yours… it was more than a dream. I do believe it’s  _necessary_.”

“So you’ll come then? That’s a yes?”

“Of course it is.”


End file.
